Nightmares
by jadeesunshine
Summary: Katniss has always been haunted by nightmares; the people that have left the living world have always returned when her eyes are closed. Tonight is no different. Or is it?
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: This week, I managed to read all the hunger games books. It wasn't until Monday that I had even heard of it. But here I am. The idea came to me today and it's all I've been able to think about._

**Reviews would really be appreciated.**_ This is my first hunger games story._

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><p>I awake suddenly, my eyes flashing open as I abruptly sit up. My chest heaves as I gasp myself back to reality. Beads of sweat trickle down the sides of my face; the entire surface of my skin is covered in a thin layer of it. Wiping my palms of the covers before so, I run my fingers though my hair. I try to tell myself, convince myself that it was only a dream. A figment of my imagination.<p>

But Rue's scream still rings in my ears. The ghastly sight of a spear protruding her stomach still remains on the backs of my eyelids, haunting me whenever I blink. I can't close my eyes, in fear of falling back into the arena. And yet I can't keep them open. My salty tears are beginning to sting my eyes.

Without any control of my body, I start hyperventilating. Rocking back and forth in an obsessive rhythm, I bring my knees to my chest and curl myself into the smallest ball possible. I hold onto the tiny hope that if I make myself small enough, nothing can touch me.

"Katniss?"

I hear the rustle of covers as they are pulled back and then, with a dip of the mattress, his arms find me and pull me closer to his warm, soft chest. Small sobs break out and I'm torn between closing my eyes and keeping them open. He rocks with me until my knees drop and I remain still, silently sobbing.

"Katniss?" Peeta murmurs again, his voice sounding gently in my left, reconstructed ear. Turning slowly, I face him and melt at his beautiful blue eyes. My breathing hitches slightly and Peeta immediately pulls my head to his chest, tucking it under his chin.

We remain in this position for several minutes. Maybe even hours. I don't notice them pass as I shake at the image of Rue's limp body that refuses to leave me alone. As the minutes tick by, Peeta begins to trace his fingers along my back. It takes only seconds before I realise he is sketching, using my back as a canvas and his fingers as his pencils. No doubt, whatever he draws tonight will appear on a batch of cookies by mid-morning.

As I start to control my breathing, my vulnerable sobs cease. With a few deep inhalations, I push back on Peeta's bare chest. He's finished his drawing and is looking at me with grave eyes. I try to form a weak smile but Peeta sees right through it, planting a reassuring kiss on my forehead.

"It was Rue," I say with a tired and hoarse voice. The name floods my brain with all the memories. Her voice. Her smile. Her whistle. Her ability to leap from tree to tree. I can't contain the emotion and I let a single tear fall from the corner of my eye.

Like a little girl, I crawl into Peeta's lap and wrap my arms around his neck. I rest my forehead on his so I'm forced to stare into his blue eyes. Forcibly, I think of nothing else. The blonde eyelashes that frame them, flutter slightly. I can tell he's trying not to blink. His eyes resemble pools of ocean and from the waves within them, I can see my own grey eyes reflected.

"Everything will be alright," Peeta whispers and although it doesn't seem like it right now, I believe him. I have to because if I don't, I have nothing. The honesty in his voice makes me release a breath I didn't know I was holding. "I'll make sure of it." His hand reaches up and I feel his thumb caress my cheek like the silk Cinna used to mould into masterpieces.

And then I kiss him. Pulling myself so I'm pressed against him, I force my lips on his and although he begins with trepidation, soon he parts his lips. Leading the kiss, I push forward and we fall back on the bed, Peeta underneath. His hands snake their way up and down my body where as mine stay fixed around his neck.

In one swift movement, he rolls me over and yet I feel no pressure of his weight on top of me. He breaks the kiss from my lips and wriggles around effortlessly. His kisses trail away from my lips, along my jaw line to my ear, down the side of my neck to the base of my collarbone. Everywhere he is and everywhere he isn't is radiating with the warmth Peeta gives me. My hands unlock their vice and my fingers knot with little, curly tufts of ashy blonde hair. With a little tug, I bring his face to mine and kiss him solidly on the lips.

Smoothly, I'm tucked under the covers, my lips never leaving Peeta's. With one last kiss, Peeta pulls away and cradles me in his arms. The warmth lingers on me, creating a safe invisible layer that entices me to sleep. At first I resist, twisting in Peeta's grip.

But he starts to hum something I've never heard before and I tuck myself under his chin, sighing deeply and succumbing to a Peeta-filled dream of bliss and happiness.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Author's Note;**__ I wasn't going to continue this story. It was only supposed to be a one-shot. But the overwhelming response made me merge another story with this. I hope you like._

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><p>Crossing the Meadow swiftly, bow in hand, arrows on my back, I jog past the place where the electric fence used to stand, charged and deadly, before immersing myself in the trees. I pull my father's hunting jacket closer to my body as the cold breeze chills me to small shivers. Crouching low in a familiar stance, I stalk deeper into the forest. My ears are alert. My eyes are wide.<p>

Silently I pull an arrow from my sheath and fix it to my bow in a matter of seconds. I continue to wander through the trees until I spot a wild turkey, ducking leisurely around a nearby tree. It hasn't noticed me yet and I don't intend it too. Bringing the bow to my eye line, I listen for the wind, accustom my aim to it and send an arrow hurtling towards the turkey's neck.

I miss. My arrow buries itself in the trunk of the closest tree. Before I can register my miss; before I can pull another arrow and load it, the turkey waddles into the vast trees and I lose it. Why did I miss? I'd never miss something so simple and easy.

Looking at my bow for answers, I see nothing wrong with it. It's as perfect as it was the first day my father made it. I push through the bushes, hooking my bow on my shoulder, and head for the arrow protruding the tree trunk. I'm careful not to break the shaft as I tug it away from the bark, ignoring the small stream of sap leaking down the tree. It's perfectly balanced. No faults as far as I can tell. So why did I miss?

Reloading my bow once again, I trek deeper into the forest, stopping whenever I spot adequate game. As usual, I crouch low, not allowing myself to be spotted, shoot my arrow, aiming for a clear kill. But every time I miss. My arrows are repeatedly sent flying into tree trunks, diving into bushes or just digging themselves into the soft ground. And every miss frustrates me further. I don't know what's wrong for me.

I decide there's no use hanging around when I seem incapable to catch any game. Therefore I retrieve my last arrow that missed the most spectacularly, flying higher than intended into a low branch. I stomp angrily through the forest, retracing my path easily and soon enough, I've crossed the Meadow and am making my way towards town.

District 12 has changed since the revolution. The square that would usually teem with children once a year for reaping, is now home to a giant granite memorial tribute, a gift from District 2, that hosts the names of all those lost from District 12 during the war. My sister's name is featured there. Along with Peeta's family. On approach I rearrange the flowers I left beside her name this morning. The breeze has knocked them ever so slightly.

Looking to the sky, I guess that it's close to lunchtime so I head to the bakery, finding Peeta in deep concentration over the frosting of a cake. On my arrival, he looks up from his work, smiling brightly and leaning over the counter to kiss me. I walk around the side, dumping my bow, arrows and empty game bag into the corner and perch on my usual stool.

Apparently my lack of game isn't unnoticed. "Decide not to go hunting in the end?" Peeta asks with one raised eyebrow as he continues decorating the cake. His precision and technique always inspires me. He's never at more peace than when he is frosting.

"I tried. All my arrows missed!" I watch as his hand slips and a mistake is created on his perfect cake. He looks at me in disbelief. I'm astounded still. I've practically never missed. I never leave the forest without game. Although it's not needed - I don't hunt for survival anymore - I could never give it up. It's my talent like painting is Peeta's.

Realising his mistake, Peeta quickly sets about correcting and within seconds, the cake looks like perfection. Only then does he put down his tools to face me straight on. "Do you feel alright?" he teases but I don't laugh. I'm too angry at myself. And concerned.

"I'll just take my bow home," I say, standing up abruptly and grabbing my things from the corner. When I turn around, Peeta is standing inches from me, his face serious and sober and his blue eyes swimming with concern. He holds me in his arms and immediately I relax as his warmth soothes me. I tuck myself under his chin and play with part of his apron.

"Go home," he instructs, not like a command but loving advice instead. I don't want to leave his arms but I can't think straight. "Have a bath and pack a bag. The train leaves at 3pm." I simply nod. He tilts my chin up and kisses me softly. The taste of his lips melts into my own and I feel my head swirl with a million thoughts: all about him.

I barely notice the walk to Victor's Village. One minute I'm waving goodbye to Peeta and the next I'm unlocking my front door. I'm sure people stared at my dazed and vacant expression but District 12 never pries.

Resting my bow and arrow in a small cupboard and hanging up my father's hunting jacket, I climb the stairs, my footsteps echoing through the empty house, and run myself a warm bath with extra bubbles. I strip, tossing my clothes in the corner of the room, and slide into the tub. At first, my skin struggles to adjust. The water burns my scars; they aren't fresh but that doesn't stop them tingling with discomfort.

After a while, the bubbles begin to soothe the burns and I finally enjoy my soak. Using the expensive products, I wash my long black hair, running my fingers through it to untangle any knots. I scrub my body, treading carefully where my skin is marked with the scars. Peeta says that it's a psychological problem, that I'm imagining the pain. But I know the difference between reality and imagination.

Feeling my fingers shrivel up with water absorption, I decide I best get out and dry myself. I reach behind me, to where my towel should be hanging, but there's nothing. I must have forgotten to take one out of the cupboard. With either hand on the sides of the bath, I steadily get to my feet and hop out. The air above the water is much colder and I sprint to the far wooden cupboard, stark naked with water dripping onto the floor.

At that precise moment, the door flings itself open and in walks Peeta. We spot each other at the same time and I cry, "Peeta!"

"I'm sorry!" he says, blinding his eyes with his hands and walking back a few steps. Quickly, I grab a towel, wrapping it around me tightly. I walk to Peeta, tapping his arms so he knows it's safe to look. "If I'm honest, it's not like I haven't seen any of it before." He smirks cheekily and in response, I slap him playfully, kissing his cheek briefly before dancing down the hall and into our bedroom. I hear Peeta follow.

"Can you pack if I throw you what I need?"

"What's in it for me?" he says, cocking an eyebrow and smirking ever so slightly.

Gracefully, I walk towards him, tightening the knot of my towel and then moving my hands to my hips. I stop within arm's reach of him. He's sitting on the bed, hands twisting awkwardly in his lap with a smile brighter than the sun plastered on his face.

Softly I cradle his face in my hands. Leaning closer, my lips touch his and I let them linger. With a small bite on his bottom lip, I pull away, swivelling on the spot back to the wardrobe. But then warm hands twist my arm back and I fall into Peeta who falls onto the bed. He rolls me over and kisses me forcefully, stroking my face in the complete opposite way. I can feel the heat tickle me with warmth and I can't help but smile, breaking the kiss. He pulls back slightly to look at me.

"I need to pack," I say without much coercion.

"You are beautiful," he murmurs. Not the exact reply I was expecting. He pushes a strand of wet hair that became stuck to my face, out of the way and then with much annoyance, he stands up, pulling me with him. "I'll pack, you throw," he says, kissing my cheek before sitting back on the bed, patiently waiting.

In the end, I throw him four outfits for the daytime and one dress, designed by Cinna, along with comfortable and impractical shoes. Peeta neatly tidies them into a small holdall and then leaves to fetch a wash bag for me. I get dressed, deciding on a pair of blue canvas pants and an oversized plain t-shirt - it belongs to Peeta - in a matching colour. Peeta comes back into the room whilst I'm brushing my hair on the bed.

"We should be leaving soon," he says, packing the last of my belongings and zipping the bag up. He takes the brush from my hand and sits behind me, tugging the knots out gently, allowing me to close my eyes.

"Is the cake finished?"

"Yes, he'll love it!" I can hear the excitement ring through his words and I can't help but smile. Only Peeta can get so enthusiastic over a cake but to him, it's a masterpiece.

The feeling of him pulling the brush through my long hair is oddly relaxing. I make a small note to ask for this again. "He loves everything you make him. He always has."

"And it better be special to top my gift," I add.

"I've seen your gift," he says, stopping the hairbrush mid-way through my hair. "Mine's better," he whispers directly into my ear, making me jump a little as I feel the hot breath tickle.

Turning around quickly, I stare at him questioningly. I think my gift is amazing. Practical and fun. How can a cake top it? "We best go find out. It's time to leave."

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><p><strong>REVIEWS PLEASE!<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

The train station is quiet today. Not dead like it had been in previous years. Since the war, the districts are allowed to be visited by all residents of Panem. A track had been built that extended to District 13, stretching through all districts and stopping at them all too. This makes it easier to visit my mother and the other tributes who I class as friends.

We arrive just in time for our train. I blame Peeta. He spent the majority of the journey walking terribly slow, balancing the box holding his cake in both hands, which left me carrying all the bags. Every time he'd stop to adjust the box, I just stood there impatiently waiting but when I needed a rest, he would hurry me along, telling me "You didn't survive the Hunger Games twice being such a slowcoach." I just scowled.

The carriages have changed since the 'Hunger Games' days. Still as elegant as ever, they are now fit to house more than a couple of tributes and their staff. What were once bedrooms and dining rooms are now wooden tables and bunk beds that are surprisingly comfortable. We settle at one of the many tables, our luggage already stored away. However Peeta refuses to give the attendant the cake.

"What time are we arriving?" The train begins to pull away slowly. I stare out of the window, silently saying goodbye to District 12 for a couple of days.

Peeta, with one hand placed protectively on top of the cake, runs his hand through his blond hair. "10 o'clock I think. He'll already be asleep though." Staring at the boxed cake, he taps his fingers, clearly contemplating something before standing up from opposite me and storing the cake in an overhead compartment. Instead of returning to his seat, he moves next to me and kisses my hair, allowing me to snuggle into his side as the train picks up speed.

"What happened during the hunting trip this morning then?" he asks, trying not to sound too interested as he plays with a strand of my damp hair. Same old Peeta, trying not to pry but not being able to resist.

"I don't know," I reply simply. It's the honest truth. I've nearly always brought game back every time I step out of the forest and back to District 12. "Every arrow never met its target."

"But you could shoot a rabbit with one arrow in the dark and make a clean kill."

"I know!"

"Well do you feel alright? You're not coming down with something?"

I had to think about my health. Most nights I wake up with nightmares but that's nothing to do with my health. And apart from the odd headache which is easily cured with a remedy my mother found, I've been fine. "Perfect," I reply happily.

"Well I'm stumped!" Peeta muses, twiddling my hair to the roots and then unravelling it absentmindedly. But I can tell he is still thinking about it. I am too. As soon as one idea comes into my head, there is evidence that disproves it.

During the journey, Peeta lets me sleep in his lap because I didn't get a lot of sleep last night. I keep waking up from the nightmares. The Hunger Games have new rules and new participants. First it was just Rue. But over the weeks, toddlers and small children fight for survival and many wobble curiously into forest fires or are washed away, drowning, by flash floods. Each time, I awake in sweat. And Peeta is there to soothe me back to sleep.

The train's continuous rumble refrains me from falling into my deep unconscious whilst still allowing me to rest. Regrettably, Peeta shakes me gently awake when we stop at District 5 for fuel. Outside, the sky is pitch black with the exceptions of tiny twinkling stars that embed the black blanket. Taking a moment to come to my senses, we decide to take a little walk. We have at least five minutes before the train leaves again.

"It's a lovely night," I say as I wrap my fingers into his. I can't help but shiver slightly as the night breeze trickles through my hair, leaving goose bumps. Instantly, Peeta pulls me closer to his body and I gradually get warmer.

As we walk down the platform, I rest my head on his shoulder and stare up at the stars. "It's beautiful," he says and as I turn to look at him, I see him staring stunned at the sky. His lips are puckered in a way that makes me guess he's imagining a new elaborate pattern for a painting. I return to the stars and hear him murmur, "Beautiful," again.

Continuing down the platform, we hear the scraping of fabric against hard gravel. We turn a corner and see an old woman struggling with a suitcase probably just as big as her, trailing it on the floor. Immediately we jog over to help. I steady the old lady while Peeta lifts the bag, quite effortlessly I must remark. Helping her to the train, we climb aboard and Peeta passes the suitcase to the attendant, who struggles to keep it off the floor.

"Thank you," the old lady croaks, straightening her back to look at us. Like clockwork, her face drops and a red blush creeps up her face as she pulls her sequined shawl closer to her body. "Oh my goodness. Thank you."

Peeta and I stand there shocked. It isn't a completely new experience but it never happens in District 12 so we have to get used to it every time we leave. "You're welcome," Peeta says in a gentlemanly fashion. I just nod my head in an assuring manner.

All of a sudden, she grabs my hand and kisses all four knuckles. Her sloppy lips feel horrible against my skin but I don't pull my hand away. After me, she takes Peeta's, treating it like fine silk. Each knuckle is kissed and the hand is dropped. Once again she murmurs "Thank you," and then ends with a low bow. A first for both of us. The old lady practically skips into the next carriage, leaving Peeta and I completely lost for words.

Silently we return to our seats and the train lurches forward, continuing its journey. I fold myself into my seat, hugging Peeta as I play with the hem of his shirt. Whenever we travel throughout Panem, there's always a reception. It's to be expected but never has someone bowed. I can't get my head around it.

"That was-" Peeta begins.

"Weird," I finish and then we fall back into a comfortable silence.

I can feel on the side of my arm the traces Peeta leaves as his fingers are probably already making his next piece of art. Since his tools are packed, the best he can do is doodle on my arm. Even though the touches leave no marks, I can already see the picture forming in my head. Stars.

The silence is only disrupted when Peeta stops drawing on my arm, his finger stationary on my shirt sleeve. "Do you think they know?" I know who they are. They are always the same. We can't run from them. We can't hide from them. Instead we choose to embrace them. The Capitol.

Granted it's not as strict now in Panem. President Snow isn't dictating us. Our new president, Paylor, is a democratic. She listens to the people and understands them, being the best ruler anyone can remember. Never has Panem been so equal and harmonious.

But everyone still thrives for entertainment. And without the Hunger Games, the attention directly turned to us. The remaining tributes.

"I don't know."

"I'll find out." With a fleeting kiss on my head, Peeta climbs out of his seat and walks out of the carriage. I don't follow. But after a moment's deliberation, I run out of the carriage, catching up with Peeta, who already is firing up the TV.

As the black screen bursts to life, an image of Peeta and I flashes onto the screen. It seems we've caught the end of the segment. "- I just hope District 4 is ready for the love birds because they sure love that salty bread." The screen flickers back to a studio where a girl - bubble-gum pink hair with a suit to match and a golden mockingjay printed on her cheek - is sitting in front of a desk with a large window filled with a skyline view that could only be found at the Capitol. "I'm Isabellum Twist and that has been your tribute news. Thank you and good night!" The TV flashes an image of the seal of Panem and the anthem plays the show out.

Peeta turns the TV off before the anthem finishes. "There goes our chance of having a quiet break from it all," he says in clear annoyance. He takes my hand and pulls me through the carriage into our seats. "You didn't mention it to anyone, did you?" he asks me as I sit down with my back to the window, facing him.

"No," I lie unconvincingly.

But Peeta sees through me like glass. "Katniss!"

"I only mentioned it to Greasy Sae."

"In the Hob?"

Suddenly I understand how everyone knows. I mean, I was talking quite animatedly about our trip to District 4 at the end of the week. Greasy Sae loves the fish there and asked me to bring some back. I doubt it because it will stink my luggage out but I'm sure there's a way.

"I'm sorry," I mumble quietly. I know how important this trip is to Peeta. Everyone's been so busy that I haven't seen anyone in months and I rarely talk to them over the phone. We have friends in District 12 but they don't know what it's like to be under the spotlight. And Peeta is always happy to see everyone.

"It's alright sweetheart." He leans over to kiss my forehead and then I turn in my seat, staring out the window. Waiting for District 4 to arrive.

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><p><em>I apologize for it being shorter than you may have expected. The next chapter will be longer and filled with more information.<em>

**REVIEWS PLEASE!**The author would like to thank you for your continued support. Your review has been posted.


	4. Chapter 4

As the train stumbles to a halt, Peeta jumps from his seat and begins rummaging through the overhead compartment, retrieving the elusive box and placing it delicately on the table. He checks the contents, taking extra care for me not to see. I pull a face and he smirks to himself before lifting the box and leaving the carriage.

"Fine!" I yell after him. "I'll get the bags."

With the help of an overly-friendly attendant, I manage to get our bags onto the platform. Peeta is nowhere to be found. And I'm left to struggle with the bags with my hair falling over my face annoyingly. Sighing deeply, I heave Peeta's bag onto my shoulder and flip my hair behind me. Next to Peeta, standing in the middle of the platform is an old man with a pair of wire-rimmed glasses that magnify his eyes slightly. Wrinkles meet at the corners of his lips but they don't hide the smile. Compared to Peeta, he's so small but he's always been like that. I didn't think anyone was meeting us so I'm surprised to see...

"Beetee!"

Dropping Peeta's bag - much to my amusement – I sprint towards the pair, a smile creeping wider on my face with every pace. I crash into him, most likely knocking the air from his lungs, and hug Beetee tightly. He fits neatly into my arms and I can't help but feel happy around him. Probably because he's got such a positive outlook on life. It radiates off him.

"Katniss, you have to let me breathe," Beetee gasps in a choked voice. I immediately release him and smile innocently. Peeta just laughs which I counter with a scowl before remembering that I dropped his bag. I've never been a good actress. Beetee just smiles and kisses my cheek. "Be kind to the back please sweetheart." Only now do I realise the mahogany walking stick that he clutches to with his right hand. It's beautifully designed. His fingers flex and my attention is drawn to the handle of the stick.

A mockingjay. Perfectly sculpted in the mahogany with red and gold flecks catching the moonlight. Through Beetee's thin, pale fingers, I notice a set of wings and realise the bird must be in flight.

"It's beautiful," I murmur and slowly I come back to reality, pulling my gaze from the wooden bird. "Peeta, go get the bags." And with a less enthusiastic, he hands the cake to Beetee, even though I offer, and fetches our bags. It annoys me to see him carry them with such ease. He finds a trolley and wheels the luggage towards us, taking the box from Beetee and adding it to the top of the pile. Together we leave the platform and enter the station.

The bright lights blind me temporarily as my eyes adjust to the new setting. When the white fades, I blink hard and my eyes focus on a pair of twins, no bigger than a metre, standing in a golden dress for the girl, who has a braid like my signature look, and a golden suit for the boy. Both have platinum blond hair and are overflowing with large bouquets of flowers. Their smiles brighten when we stop in front of them and they hold the flowers out for Peeta and me.

With a brief glance at Peeta, who's smiling at me, I bend down to the little girl and relieve her of the bouquet. "Thank you," I say kindly. "I love your hair." I touch her braid and she giggles. Once upon a time, I was terrible at all the attention, which is difficult when you're as famous as me. But Peeta helped. The little girl takes me off guard with a hug but I've learnt to accept these gestures. As she pulls away, I'm bombarded with the little boy, his arms tight around my neck. "It's lovely to meet you both," I say, brushing the little boy's hair from his face.

"Do you guys want to see a surprise?" Peeta asks excitedly and I know I'm not included. The twins giggle and are shown the secretive cake. I straighten up and realise Beetee is missing. Stroking the petals of one of the several flowers and trying to ignore the whispered conversation Peeta is sharing with the twins of District 4, I search for Beetee but the situation isn't busy this late at night and it doesn't take me long to conclude he must have nipped to the toilet.

I turn back to Peeta and the twins, finding Peeta carefully hiding the cake once more and the children standing politely, almost like statues, their small fingers entangled with each other. A small smile can't help but crawl to my lips. Moments like these make me forget all previous statements and have children.

But that means trusting the Capitol.

After whispering to one another and pausing to giggle and share mischievous stares, the golden-haired boy and girl, with their symmetrical features and ever growing smiles, look at Peeta and me welcomingly. Peeta captures my hand in his and I try not to shoot him a sarcastic smirk – I'm still hot-tempered by his behaviour. In perfect, rehearsed unison, the twins chime, "Welcome to District 4." Their voices harmonise with one another, the girl's rising like the boy's at the same moments. They rock on the balls of their feet and the little girl's smile falters. Her face contorts into one familiar to my childhood. In an instant, she resembles Prim, who used to stay up late defiantly even though she was clearly exhausted. The girl stifles the yawn and I'm reminded of the lateness of the hour.

Crouching down, I balance myself and the twins approach me, both expressions topped with faultless smiles. "Thank you so much for the flowers. They are beautiful." My hand instantly moves to graze the petals once more. "I think you should get some sleep." The girl's face contorts again but she makes no attempt to hide her yawning, her mouth stretching into a perfect 'O'.

"Beetee's back," Peeta remarks, tapping me gently. I kiss the twins cheeks goodbye and smile as they turn a blushing red. Only after they move onto Peeta do I straighten up.

"Where did you get to?"

"I fetched the driver for assistance." The old man gestured to the sleeked back, brown haired, young man wearing a midnight blue suit. Out of courtesy, I nod to him and he dips his head in response, moving towards the trolley.

"Watch out for the cake," Peeta exclaims, hopping to his feet in a flash. The twins bounce backwards in synchronisation as Peeta hurries to direct the driver in the correct way on how to transport his precious cargo. I can't help but laugh. To anyone else, his behaviour would seem crazy; mentally unstable probably. The laughs don't cease and Peeta just sends me a scowl, hooking Beetee into fits of laughter.

As the driver begins to head towards the exit, Beetee hooks his arm into mine and leads me out of the station. I try to squeeze out a goodbye to the twins but I'm too busy laughing to myself. Sleep deprivation has some nasty consequences. Peeta's still fretting over the cake and even the driver finds it funny. We near the exit and I wave my flowers back the twins who are smiling and waving where we left them.

Leaving the station, flashbulbs electrify the air between us and photographers narrow in like spiders to a trapped fly. My grip on Beetee tightens as he manoeuvres me towards the car. I smile for a few flashes but for the most, I duck my head, wishing my hair would hide me. Ringing through my ears, their shouts for my attention and annoying questions are deafening and although I think I can hear Peeta responding with vague answers, I keep my lips sealed.

We're directed to the blacked out car where the driver is loading out luggage. First helping Beetee into the front seat, I climb into the back, closing the door on the photographers. Soon after, Peeta joins me, followed by the young driver. With a roar of the engine, we leave the photographers in the dust, bright lights blazing to catch one last photo.

District 4 is one of my favourite districts, ever since the Victory Tour so many years ago. The long stretches of sandy beaches elongate as far as eyes see, beams of moonlight glistening off the individual grains of pearly white sand. Oceanic shaded waves silently crash, sending bursts of foam into the air. In the distance, I spot clusters of boats, sails buffering in the sea breeze, hulls bobbing slowly. The car steers away from the coast and we flicker past houses. Many are draped with fishing nets or sporting some kind of trident – the weapon being plastered on doors or crossed with another trident to make an 'X' above porches.

As we cruise closer to Victor's Village, the houses grow grand and elegant. Between the large stone structures that put the Justice Building to extreme shame, I can see glimpses of the beach. We're close. Soon we pull into a gated block. The Victor's Village here is much bigger, home to more victors in comparison to the limited in District 12 that were awarded to those who acted courageously in the rebellion.

Eighteen houses along, the car crawls to a stop and the driver climbs out to open my door. I murmur a 'thank you' before the driver scurries to the trunk and I go and help Beetee. Already I can hear Peeta antagonising over his cake. We leave him to be alone with the driver and I support Beetee up the stone steps. I knock and wait but there's nothing. Thrumming his walking stick against the stone step, Beetee gets impatient and storms into the house and down the hall, me in his wake.

I'm led down a darken hall that's familiar and yet it's been at least a year since I last stepped on the wooden floorboards. Beetee's walking stick drums steadily and as my eyes adjust, I follow the thumps to the kitchen. "Annie?" I call out and I hear chatter in front of us. Using his stick, Beetee pushes a door wide open and immediately I'm blinded by light. I quickly focus on the kitchen and smile wide when I see Annie Odair resting her knife on the counter and bounding towards me. "Annie!" I squeal and I embrace her body, squeezing just as hard as she is.

Behind me, the footsteps of Peeta echo through the hall and Annie screeches in my ear, "Peeta!" before releasing me and reaching out to squeeze the lungs out of his body. She halts with her arms stretching forward, noticing the cake and decides not to hug yet. Years have probably taught her how precious a cake is to Peeta. Instead she leads him out of a door on the other side of the kitchen.

Laughing to myself, I help Beetee boil some water and he hobbles over to a chair at the mahogany table in the middle of the room while I continue making tea for everyone. Annie and Peeta quickly return and being the gentleman I married, he takes over Annie's work of slicing raw chicken into cubes while I pour tea for them all, slipping into a seat next to Annie.

"How are things?" I ask, blowing my tea before sipping it. Bloody hell! As if the steam wasn't warning enough. As I hurry for a glass of water in the hope of saving my burning tongue, everyone just laughs and I know blood is rushing to my cheeks impulsively. "What was I ... Oh yes! Everything good?"

"It's well," Annie sighs, pouring cold milk into my tea to cool it. "He's doing well at school. Top of his classes in most. But I know he's struggling."

The knife in Peeta's hand slams down harder than previous slices. My eyes flicker to him but he has his back turned to me. Without his face, he's impossible to read. But his shoulders are tense and his whole body is rigid. "We should visit more often. I should have been there for him. Does he realise he can call whenever?"

"Of course he knows. But I'm afraid he's too much like his father. Stubborn to the core," Beetee says idly, twirling a spoon with sugar through his tea slowly. He catches my eye and smiles reassuringly. I can tell Peeta wishes to be a father figure, seeing as I refuse to give him a child of his own. And over the years, we've grown to love. That's why hearing someone you love is hurting, makes everything much harder.

It takes a few breaths before Peeta begins slicing silently again. But his body is still tense.

From the ceiling above, creaks echo through the house and I smile, knowing the cause. Annie rises from her chair and Peeta sets his knife down, both ready to leave. "I'll go. Hopefully knowing we are here means he'll sleep sooner." Both Annie and I laugh and Beetee shakes his head. We know it won't happen that way. With a last gulp of my cooling tea, I smile to a worried looking Peeta and climb the stairs, tracing steps I've made before.

I climb the stairs and head to the second door on the right at the top. My footsteps aren't quiet and I hear thundering stamps before the squeak of springs sounds under the new weight. Smiling to myself, I knock gently on the door and poke my head inside slightly. I know he's awake but there's nothing like a bit of dramatic effect. Although it's been a while, the room hasn't changed. Tridents are still mounted on the walls and his bed is curtained by fishing nets, truly patriotic to the district.

The covers rustle and a head of bronze hair flourishes from within along with beady green eyes that pierce through the semi-darkness. I open the door more, flooding more light into the room and suddenly the covers are thrust back and a lanky teenager rushes towards me. His body bombards me with such force, I have to take a step back to balance myself. My arms are as tight around him as his are around me and as my head rests on his shoulder, I realise how much he's grown.

"I've missed you Finn," I mumble but I think it's lost in his clothing because there's no reply.

When he lets go, Finn dashes to the lamp by his bed and we're thrust into bright, blue light. I make my way to his bed and automatically correct his covers before sitting down at the foot. He quickly joins me, a smile stretching wide across his face. For the first time in too long, I notice the changes that have made themselves prominent in my absence.

His untidy bronze hair, slightly darker than his father's, sweeps to one side with the majority pointing upwards. Under the blue hue, his skin seems darker, more tanned. I remember more of his classes at school are spent outside now because of his age; he's to learn the district talents. He's much taller since my last visit. Many limbs jerk out at awkward angles as he tries to desperately stay within my embrace. Finn's much like his father in some aspects. But in others, he's the complete opposite.

If memory serves me well and I does - I'm not that old - Finn is shy and quiet. Nothing like the bold and lively, infamous Finnick Odair who tugged on the heartstrings of the majority of the female population from the Capitol. Finn has acquired many of Annie's traits. He hates the spotlight. He loves the sunset and would often sneak out to catch a glimpse of it; that was until he was given a new room where the descending sun could be viewed from his window sill. He embodies everything good and pure from both Annie and Finnick and for that, I hug him a bit tighter before letting go.

"Finn, I would love to catch up with you." I brush a strand of hair from his face and he smiles brightly at me, replicating the genuine smile of his father. "But it's late and we both need some sleep. I just came up to let you know we were here."

His face drops but he quickly attempts to compose himself. "Is Peeta downstairs?" I can see his beautiful green eyes burn ablaze so I nod and tell him that Peeta is helping his mother. He accepts that he should sleep but doesn't quite give in. All of a sudden I'm pulled in for a rib-cracking hug.

I bury my face in his hair and realise: I don't have this kind of love. Yes I have love. Nobody loves me more than Peeta. And I know our extended family loves me too. But I will never receive the love for a mother. I didn't give it to mine and I have intention, despite Peeta's best efforts, to have any maternal feelings. The world is too unpredictable and I dare not bring an innocent life into a time bomb waiting for the next dictator.

But that doesn't mean I don't wish.

Before I know it, tears are building up in the corners of my eyes. I emerge from Finn's hair and look up to the ceiling as the salty droplets threaten to fall. They sting my eyes and as I blink hard, I admit defeat and teardrops fall across my cheeks. I tilt my head back to Finn and kiss his hair, hurrying myself to get out of the room, away from the love. I mumble "goodnight" to him and as he leans from my embrace, I wipe my eyes and leave the room, resisting the urge to turn around.

As soon as I close Finn's door, I open another and I'm in the bathroom. Falling to the floor in anger and emotion, I sob hard and curl up into a ball, kicking the door close but not locking it. I'm not sure how long I'm there for. Time is lost to me just like the tears that stream continuously like a tap. My sobs crack and my breathing hitches but I remain curled. After time, footsteps climb the stairs and echo as they stop at Finn's room. I know they are his but I make no movement. At this point, I don't think I can move.

The next thing I remember is Peeta's arms cradling me to his chest. I feel his hot breath on my face. I hear his voice but it comes from a distance and the words are hard to make out. The last memory is his eyes, piercing me with worry as I try to find myself and answer him. But I'm succumbed to sleep before.

* * *

><p><em>I hope you enjoyed this. It's extra-long because of <em>_**a special day**__! Can you figure out what is up with Katniss? And yes, it's Finn's birthday. But if my storyline is correct, that won't be celebrated for another two chapters. Confused? Wait and see! _

_Oh yeah_

**HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME! I'M SEVENTEEN!**


	5. Chapter 5

I'm running.

I don't know where. I don't know why. Most importantly though, I don't know what from.

Roots rise up from the ground, making me stumble and trip. But still I carry on sprinting through the trees, casting a look back to see what is chasing me. There is only darkness. Dodging a large oak tree, I hear a high-pitched scream and immediately head towards it. I know I'm heading right towards danger but some innate desire is pulling me towards the scream. My chest heaves as I breath harder and harder, panting the oxygen into my lungs. By now my legs are numb but the screams are louder, piercing my heart every time.

Running into a clearing, the first thing I notice is the small boy, tears streaming down his cheeks with an expression of pure horror. He had climbed up to a high branch in one of the trees, seeking safety. And then I notice why he needed to be safe. The base of the tree is surrounded by mutts.

Without a second thought, I charge at them, momentarily wishing I had my bow and arrows. The closest pounces towards me, jaws snapping wildly. Delicately, I dodge it but put myself in the path of another. I have just enough time to climb a few branches high up the tree before the mutts are circling the base, growling low in frustration.

I climb higher, towards the boy. It's only when I'm on the same branch that I realise how much he resembles Peeta; the same shaped face and bone structure that defines his cheeks with its normal blush; the same beautiful eyes that melt whenever he sees me. But he is my thick dark brown hair. Instantly I reach out to stroke the young boy, not entirely sure why.

He flinches, losing his footing and falling off the branch before I can get a hold of them. It feels like he falls forever, but the truth of it is he falls halfway down the tree before grabbing a stray branch and holding on for dear life. The boy looks up, pleading me for help with his tear-filled eyes.

I want to help. I move to help. But the mutts distract me. Their eyes are familiar and then I realise. They are Peeta's eyes too. My heart contracts, painfully aching and full of fear. They are snapping ferociously, smelling that the small boy is close and I want to tell the mutts to leave him alone. But my voice is lost.

And then he loses his grip. He falls, breaking thin branches that couldn't even hold the weight of a squirrel. An alien scream echoes through the woods and it is seconds before I realise it's my own, hoarse and breaking. But it's too late. The boy lands on the floor with a thud and the mutts pounce, Peeta's eyes flashing with rage and hunger.

I turn my head away in disgust and feel dizzy and sick. Tear are staining my cheeks so I clamp my eyes shut and feel myself float into nothing until all I hear is my name reverberating through the darkness.

"Katniss!"

In the distance, a scream, long and shrill, pierces the silence. It seems to echo as I gather myself. My eyes fly open, recognising the living room of the Odair household. A warm fire burns brightly near the foot of the bed, casting odd shadows over Peeta, who is hovering above me.

And then I see his eyes. The screaming accelerates, growing in volume to the point where it's all I can hear, pounding on my ears. Peeta's face draws back warily and I realise that I'm the one screaming. All because of Peeta's eyes – the eyes of the mutts of my dream.

My lips slam shut and the screaming fades into silence. There's a throbbing ache in my voice box, as if I've tried to make myself heard all the way back in District 12. I groan involuntarily, sitting myself up. Pealing the covers off my sweaty body, I take a few deep breaths, watching my chest inflate with air before falling, before looking up at Peeta shamefully.

His eyes are glazed over, slightly darker in the light of the fire. But I can no longer hate them. They are beautiful, warm, welcoming and loving. Instantly, maybe even instinctively, I fall into his arms, feeling them curve around my body familiarly. His heartbeat drums comfortingly and already I feel myself relax, shaking off thoughts of the little boy in the tree.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he whispers, his voice betraying his emotions, tainted with worry and distress. I shake my head quickly, burying myself into his chest. His arms drop to the bottom of my back and effortlessly, I'm lifted into his lap, curling up into a small ball the fits perfectly with Peeta.

I don't know how long we sit there. I don't know if Peeta managed to get any sleep before I woke up screaming. I don't know when I fall asleep either. But darkness surrounds us and I know I fall asleep in Peeta's arms – where I belong.

_Author's Note: I apologise for the late update. Loads of stuff has been happening but slow and steadily, I have been adding to this story. I know where I'm going, I just have to get there._

_Enjoy and _**REVIEW!**


	6. Chapter 6

"Are you sure you're alright?" Peeta asks for the fifth time this morning as we walk down the sunlit hall.

I sigh wearily, half because we've already had this conversation and half because I'm utterly exhausted. Pulling on unknown strength, I step in front of Peeta, stopping us in place. "I'm fine," I whisper, wrapping my arms around his neck and pushing up on my toes to kiss him sweetly. "Can we just leave it?" He nods robotically, which makes me laugh so I kiss him once more before pulling him towards the kitchen.

"Where's the birthday boy?" Peeta says as we walk in the room, breathing in the beautiful smells of pancakes and smoked salmon.

Immediately I see Finn. He's much taller than I remember and although I knew this last night, I'm still surprised to see how tall. He's practically beaming as he crosses the room to first hug Peeta and then me. I ruffle his long bronze hair and he quickly slaps my hand away, fixing his hair.

"Happy birthday Finn! I can't believe you're fifteen already," I say, sitting at the table across from Beetee, who's adopted his wheelchair today. "I remember when you were a little baby and you used to run around naked."

"He sounds like his father," Peeta remarks and I watch a light spark up in Finn's eyes at the mention of his dad.

I know how he feels; I miss my father every day. But at least I got to spend time with him before the mine explosion. I had time to make memories. Finn has nothing, just the stories we tell him and it breaks my heart because it's my fault Finnick isn't around. He died for me and even now, I carry the burden.

"Did you know we're having a party on the beach today?" Finn says excitedly.

"I didn't!" Peeta says enthusiastically.

Smiling into my plate, I pile a couple of pancakes one and tuck in. The relationship between Peeta and Finn is amazing, one I know he treasures. As I watch the pair talking animatedly about Finn's friends and school, I can't help but love him even more for the compassion he has. Finn is the son I will never give him.

"And you wait until you see the cake I've made you. I think I can safely say it's some of my best work," Peeta jokes, flicking his head of hair out of his face.

I scoff to myself. "This cake has been driving me crazy so I hope you appreciate it, Finn." Already I can see him licking his lips. I laugh and finish my breakfast, slowly but surely feeling better about the lack of sleep I received last night.

And then it's like my stomach does a somersault and suddenly I can feel my food making its way back up to my throat. Quickly I rush from the kitchen, running down the hall until I smash open the door to a bathroom. Without a second thought, my breakfast reappears.

By the time I'm finished, my stomach is definitely empty and the muscles in my jaw and throat ache from the constant contraction. I sit myself by the side of the toilet, rubbing my stomach shakily and wiping the sweat from my brow. Now I find myself more exhausted than before. But it's Finn's birthday and I don't want to miss a second of it. So I flush the toilet, wash my face with cold water and breathe deeply.

"Katniss?" From behind the door, Peeta's head appears, tainted with worry and concern that tugs on my heart. "Are you alright?"

Bracing myself against the basin, I take a deep breath in and exhale loudly. "I'm fine. I just didn't feel too well and needed to cool off." There is no need for Peeta to worry about me, when I don't even know if there's anything to be worried about. I lean in to plant a kiss on his lips before halting abruptly. My breath probably smells of vomit. Instead I quickly kiss his cheek, stroking it gently before walking out of the room, leaving Peeta to wear a concerned expression complete with furrowed brow.

"I'll just get dressed," I say, slipping into our room to gather an outfit for the day and my wash bag and then head for the bigger bathroom upstairs.

As soon as I'm through the door, I lock it and drop my things, just as a new wave of nausea comes.

###

After the third regurgitation of my breakfast, I truly understanding the feeling of empty and go about getting ready. Somehow I manage to get sick in my hair so I quickly shower, being careful not to look as I wash out the remains of my pancakes. Drying off, I quickly slip on a pale blue summer dress and run a comb through my hair before braiding it down my back. I brush my teeth once more and head downstairs with my things.

"I do love that dress," Peeta whispers, pulling my hips towards him and turning them so I'm facing him. "Are you feeling any better?"

"Yeah, a shower really helped." It's not actually a lie so I hope he doesn't realise the withholding of information. There's a tense moment when I think I've been rumbled and he's going to demand to know what the truth is – even though I don't know it fully myself. But he just kisses me on my forehead and tells me that Finn is about to open his presents.

Quickly I find mine and hurry after Peeta.

We're in the second lounge of the house, just opposite from our room. It has a small balcony that reminds me of an evening I spent out there with Peeta one evening on a visit. From there, the ocean can be seen and the view is literally breath-taking – Annie has a picture of the scene that Peeta painted for one of her birthdays. The room itself is a happy blue colour with dark wooden panels that give the whole house a boat-house feel.

In the middle of the floor, surrounded by gifts wrapped neatly with ribbons, Finn sits with a slight bounce, positively beaming with excitement. I add my present to the pile and perch myself on the arm of the couch. Peeta's head lolls into my lap and I absentmindedly run my fingers through his ashy blond locks, watching his smile grow.

Instantly Finn moved for Beetee's present, gently pulling the ribbon off before brutally attacking the wrapping paper. He tears it to shreds, revealing a square-shaped smooth plastic slab, about the size of Finn's hand. With a confused and curious expression, he taps the surface cautiously, as if he expects it to blow up. Instead an image of Finn appears, a smiling picture from his last birthday that spell out 'happy birthday!'

"It's a tablet," Beetee says, obviously recognising the confusion on all our faces. "I was Head of its development. You can do anything on it: your school work, any phone calls, take pictures, watch television."

"Awesome!" Finn cries, bouncing up to hug the old man in his wheelchair.

"Thank you," Annie murmurs, leaning over her armchair to kiss Beetee on the cheek. He blushes vividly and splutters over his words. Peeta and I share a small smile as we watch Beetee recover from the affection displayed.

But Finn is ready for his next present and Beetee is happy for the distraction. As I turn back to the boy on the floor, his hands are poised over my present.

As usual, I'm doubting my choice and questioning my reasoning. I instantly want to change my mind, to snatch the present back and hide it. But it's too late because Finn's fingers are ripping through the paper. He lifts my handmade bow into the air, letting the last scraps of paper fall away. It's sleek and smooth, perfectly balanced for Finn as he holds it in the shooting position. Even Peeta drops his mouth as he marvels at my handiwork, a blatant look of astonishment on his face. Is this not the present he had expected?

"It's the first I've ever finished that was actually usable. Normally the balance is off or they're too easily snapped," I explain, looking up and seeing everyone staring at me. A flush of blood floods my cheeks. I drop my eyes to my lap, focusing on individual strands of Peeta's hair. But I can still feel their gazes on me.

In my lap, Peeta sits up to get a better look at Finn's gift. His fingers trace over the markings I've carved on the limbs of the bow. There are leaves and vines, twists and turns, all shaped in a pattern around the bow. "This is amazing!" he says, completely mesmerised. "I mean I thought you were going to give him one of your father's but Katniss, this is beautiful."

"I love it!" Finn says excitedly and despite the blush from Peeta's compliment, I can't help but beam with pride. The no longer small boy rushes up to me and squeezes me tightly. Moments like these make me consider children. I rest my head on his shoulder and quietly laugh as Finn showers me in thank you's.

"I'll even show you how to use it," I offer. He finds the sheath of arrows that came with the bow, hidden under the pile of paper, and nocks one to the bow, aiming it at the far wall.

At that moment, there's a fierce knocking at the door. Getting to her feet, Annie goes to answer. "Don't shoot it in the house," she quickly adds in a very maternal manner before darting out of the room. Her footsteps echo down the hall.

Meanwhile Finn releases the string, disregarding his mother. But the arrow barely reaches two feet in front of him.

Out in the hall, the door slams shut and there is a high pitched squeal accompanied by the choking of air. I immediately recognise the squeal and hurry out into the hall. But even as I do, I don't expect to see what I do. Johanna stands in front of me, flashing her winning smile before squeezing me so tightly, the air is literally forced from my lungs.

"It's nice to see you too," I gasp, breathing deeply when I'm finally released.

This is when I realise Johanna didn't come alone. Hovering awkwardly near the doorway is a shadowed figure yet to introduce themselves. As they step forward, the sunlight that streams through the window of the door hits them. Johanna's brought along a woman. She's smaller in frame compared to Johanna and has blonde hair that reaches her shoulders.

Catching our stare, Johanna jumps slightly and reaches back to pull the girl closer. I watch as their fingers lace together, just like how Peeta and I hold hands sometimes. "This is Sophy, my girlfriend."

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: Apologies for such a late update. I was lacking inspiration so I went and read all three books again and this chapter sort of came together. I know I have left you on a bold statement but I promise to try and update soon so you're not left hanging. Hope you enjoy this and review or message with any thoughts or suggestions. They are much appreciated!<em>


	7. Chapter 7

I'm sat on the beach, my feet buried in the sand with my hands cupping a plastic cup filled with water. Although I haven't been sick since this morning, I don't trust my stomach and am left eating little snacks and sipping small gulps of water, while everyone else drinks wine. Instead I occupy myself with admiring the sun as it sets in the horizon, out at sea. It's a beautiful scene with the orange sun streaking a rainbow of colours across the sky - something I can imagine Peeta painting, if he's not having too much fun at the party.

Finn is having the best time ever, which means that Peeta is too. But I start to feel a bit tired, my lack of sleep the night before catching up on me so I take a step back from the party and catch my breath. The night still isn't over and I don't want to spoil Peeta's fun by going home early.

But my absence is noticed and soon Peeta is leaving the party and making his way through the sand towards me. "Are you feeling ok?" he asks me softly, falling onto the sand beside me with a worried expression on his face that makes me feel guilty. "You don't feel sick again, do you?"

"I'm fine Peeta," I say, trying to convince him. I reach over and run my fingers down his cheek, smiling lazily. "Just a bit tired that's all."

"Do you want to head back to the house? You didn't sleep well last night," he replies, replicating my caress with one of his own down my cheek and then neck, all the way to my waist, before pulling me closer to his body and the instant warmth that comes with it.

Instinctively, I lean into his chest and surround myself in his warmth. "I'm ok, honestly," I assure him. "Besides, I don't want to miss the fireworks."

"Speaking on fireworks, Johanna sure surprised me with her new girlfriend," Peeta says casually, and when I look up at him, I see that his eyes are on the party, where Johanna and Sophy are in each other's arms. "Did you ever suspect anything?" he asks, returning his gaze to me.

I shake my head; Johanna probably has many secrets that I don't know about. Sophy is just another one on the list. "She'll always be a mystery!" I say, shrugging my shoulders and leaning closer to him. "But she does seem happy."

"I think it's about time she got some happiness in her life. She deserves at least that," Peeta murmurs softly, burying his face in my hair.

From the party, I can hear the calls that indicate the fireworks are about to happen. I fold my hand into Peeta's and squeeze it tight, looking up expectantly to the sky. Behind me, I feel Peeta kiss my hair, resting his chin on top of my head.

All of a sudden, there's a squealing whistle piercing through the air, making me jump back into Peeta's lap. A small rocket goes whizzing up into the sky, flying higher and higher until the whistling dies down, only to be replaced by a deafening boom as light exploded into the sky in a shower of colour.

Peeta's hand grips mine tighter, whilst my jaw falls open at how amazing the explosion is. As the sparks fall from the sky and another rocket is sent squealing through the air, I feel Peeta squeezing me tighter, snapping me out of my amazed trance. I look back at Peeta and see a glazed look in his eyes, instantly panicking.

"Oh no," I mouth, flipping up onto my knees so I'm facing him and looking him right in the eye. I feel so stupid that I forgot about this because even after all these years, the tortures President Snow ordered still affect him. "Peeta," I call out, gripping his cheeks.

I can feel my eyes fill up with water as he makes no indication that he heard me. Instead, I know he is reliving what he went through, just as another firework goes off behind me and the party erupts into cheering. The loud boom seems to bring Peeta back for a second, the glazed look gone from his eyes.

"Go Katniss," he cries, before he disappears within himself and pushes me back onto the sand.

This has only happened once before, when Peeta has managed to break through the flashback and fight with it for control over himself. It can get a bit dangerous, as I have learnt the hard way when he accidently punched me, so I quickly get to my feet and hurry back to the party in search of Johanna.

She's curled up next to Sophy, just like I had just been with Peeta, staring up at the fireworks I'm ignoring. "Johanna," I say a little breathlessly. "Can you go and see Peeta? He's having a fit because of the fireworks."

"Of course," Johanna says, taking me back slightly as she kisses Sophy fully on the lips and climbs to her feet. She collects her sandals and then heads over to where Peeta is sitting.

It's a bit awkward between Sophy and me. Years later and I'm still no good at making friends. But thankfully I'm spared from any conversation by Beetee's timely interruption. He only asks what's happened before I fling myself into his arms, tears streaming down my face and sobs breaking out in my chest. I hear Sophy explain briefly what I told Johanna and then Beetee's soft hands are rubbing themselves up and down my back soothingly.

"I'm so sorry," I sniffle, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. "I didn't mean to make this about me."

Beetee lets out a little laugh, pulling back from my embrace. "It's perfectly fine," she says softly. "I should of thought of how the fireworks would affect everyone. I'm the one who's sorry."

"There's nothing to apologise for," I say quickly, not wanting poor Beetee to feel like he's to blame for this. "Peeta would have hated himself if he'd been one of the reasons for not making Finn's birthday the best."

Above them both, there is an echoing boom as the final firework showers the sky in an array of colourful sparks. All around them is cheering.

As I clap along with the rest of the party and watch the tiny red spark fizzle out of existence, I feel myself beginning to yawn and cover my mouth with my hand. The night of bad dreams and the activeness of the day has taken its toll on me and I feel exhausted, which is unusual because I'm usually not.

"You should go back to the house and maybe get some sleep," Beetee suggests kindly, looking up at her in his wheelchair with his wise and warm eyes hidden behind his glasses. "I'll tell Peeta when he comes round."

"Are you sure?" I ask, not wanting to bail on Finn's birthday. I know when Peeta finds out I've gone back, he'll immediately leave, even when I want him to stay to make the most of his time with Finn.

Beetee simply nods, his eyes shining with years of wisdom. "I'll tell Peeta where you've gone," he says, knotting his hands together in his lap. "Just go back to the house and have an early night."

"I guess," I reply in a small voice, twirling my braid between my fingers. "But tell Peeta that I'll be fine by myself. He doesn't have to leave Finn to come and see me." With Beetee's assurance, I give him a quick kiss on the cheek and walk up the beach, leaving the lights of the party in the background. By the time I get back to Annie's house, I'm thoroughly exhausted and I fall asleep still wearing my clothes from that day.

####

My eyes flash open in sheer panic.

Sweat clings to my skin as I sit bolt upright in bed, looking desperately from side to side for some grip on reality – something to pull me back from the terrifying nightmare I was just in. At my side is Peeta, staying warily back for some reason, with eyes warm with concern. I gulp hard and let out a deep breath, flinging myself into his arms.

Peeta's my rock, my reality, my life.

"Do you feel any better?" he asks after a few silent minutes of us embracing. He peers down at me, using his soft touch to pull the hair away from my face. His smile warms me up and pulls a weak one of my own to my lips.

But something in my stomach instantly drops and I can feel something rising in my throat. As fast as I can, I jump out of my bed and run out of the room, across the hall to the bathroom, my hand clamped over my hand. Once through the door, the content of my stomach empties itself into the toilet in quite a violent and disgusting manner.

"Oh Katniss!" I hear Peeta gasp behind me. The next thing I know, hands are pulling the hair from my face and rubbing soothing circles on my back.

When I think everything is over, I flush the toilet and rinse my mouth out with some water. Turning around, I see Peeta leaning against the door frame, his hands raking through his messy hair. "I'm fine now," I say quietly, stepping closer to him. "I think I just ate something funny, that's all."

Peeta immediately wraps his arms around me and tucks my head underneath his chin. "I don't think it's that," he replies softly, running his hands down my hair. "I think it's something else. Something worse."

As he kisses the top of my head and leads me back to our bed, I can't help but think Peeta is right.

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><p><em>Author's Note: Hello strangers. I'm so sorry for not updating this story sooner. A lot has changed in my life and I'm slowly trying to adjust to it all. <em>

_But I thought I had to post something because I went to the midnight showing of Catching Fire and I absolutely loved it! Everything was so perfect and I am still so shocked at how good it was. Let me know what you thought of it with a little review, along with any comments you have on the story._

_Can you guess what's going to happen next?_


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